


Runaway

by loves_books



Series: Runaway [1]
Category: A-Team (2010), A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the night before his wedding to Hannibal, Face suddenly disappears. Desperate to figure out what could have made Face run, Hannibal goes in search of his boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runaway

They aren’t romantic men. Neither of them are given to grand romantic gestures or symbols. They’ve never celebrated Valentine’s Day, never really been on anything you could recognise as a ‘date’. They’ve never felt the need to define their relationship in such obvious, clichéd ways, yet now Hannibal is standing on the eve of his wedding, happier than he thought he would ever be.

Face often jokes it wasn’t love at first sight, not for them. Lust, certainly, and hormones. A certain longing for the unreachable. But not real love, not until they got to know each other properly, working together day in and day out, comradeship growing into friendship growing eventually into a deep and powerful love.

But Hannibal knows differently. For him, it was certainly love at first sight. And he’s never ceased to be amazed by the fact that Face loves him too. That they’ve made this work. That every year their love seems to only grow stronger, despite the changes and challenges in their lives. Despite DADT, despite prison, despite being on the run.

Never any way to make it formal, of course. No way to announce to the whole world that they are together and in love, though they aren’t romantic men and Hannibal never felt the need for such a declaration. Though he’d willingly shout it from the rooftops – he, John Smith, is in love with Templeton Peck, and has been for almost twenty years. They’ve whispered their own promises, in the dark of the night, wrapped in each other’s arms. And that was always enough. More than enough.

It was Murdock who started it, of course. Murdock who teased Hannibal about needing to make an honest man out of Face after all these years. BA, in a rare mood to join in with the pilot’s craziness, had pointed out that, technically, Face could make an honest man out of Hannibal, and why should it be the Colonel’s responsibility? Somehow that had led to a discussion about which of them would look better in a wedding dress, and the night had gone downhill from there.

But, watching his lover closely from the opposite side of the room, Hannibal couldn’t miss the way something in Face’s beautiful blue eyes had sparked brightly at the talk of marriage. A note of longing, perhaps, of a need he hadn’t known was there. They aren’t romantic men, but Face has so many deeply hidden layers that Hannibal had started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, his lover wanted something more traditional after all the untraditional chaos in their lives.

* * *

“It wouldn’t really change anything, you know.” Hannibal knew Face was still thinking about the conversation from earlier that evening, about marriage and weddings and commitment. Even now, as they lay wrapped up together in bed, sleepy and sated after making love long and slow, he knew it was still on his lover’s mind. “If I could marry you, I would. I hope you know that, sweetheart. But, it wouldn’t - ”

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Face whispered, his words muffled against Hannibal’s chest. “I know, John. I know.” Silence for a long moment, and Hannibal had been certain his boy had fallen asleep. But then, Face had spoken again, lifting his head and resting his chin on Hannibal’s shoulder, bright eyes gleaming in the dull light from the window. “And you know I’d marry you too, if we could. I love you so much.”

“And I love you too.” Craning his neck, Hannibal stretched down to kiss those perfect lips, and Face responded in kind, a lazy tangle of tongues. After they’d parted, Face tucked securely back against Hannibal’s side, the older man had felt the need to speak again. “It’s only a piece of paper, Temp.”

“I know. And the guys were only teasing.” But that note of longing was still there, and Hannibal felt his heart start to long for more too. “Only a piece of paper. And a ring.”

* * *

Hannibal has the rings with him right now. Transferring his smouldering cigar to his left hand, he gives in to the urge to slip his fingers deep into his pocket, caressing those two little boxes, inside which lie two matching rings. Plain gold bands, each with both their names engraved on the inside in tiny, elegant script. Tomorrow, Murdock will hold the ring Face will give to Hannibal, while BA will take charge of Hannibal’s for Face. Tonight, Hannibal couldn’t bear to part with them.

The Colonel in him knows these might be the thing that gives them away, one day. Both of their real names, one common, one decidedly more rare. Both of them wanted criminals. But if anyone gets close enough to read the insides of their rings, Hannibal knows they would already be screwed anyway. They aren’t romantic men, but this gesture is an important one. This makes it real, even if it can’t be real.

Taking another drag on his cigar, Hannibal looks out at the beach, with its burning torches and pristine sand. A beautiful resort, small but not too small. They won’t stand out here. Hannibal and Face are staying in a private hut further down the beach, although calling it a hut makes it seem too simple and plain. It’s beautiful and luxurious – a true honeymoon suite – and Hannibal had loved the way Face had laughed in wonder when they first stepped inside. Murdock and BA are staying at the hotel, close by.

The more they had talked about it, or talked around it, the more Hannibal could tell that Face actually wanted this commitment, though his lover had never said it directly. Little gestures, flashes of truth in his eyes, even as he kept repeating that it didn’t matter, that it was only a piece of paper. And Hannibal had been surprised to find a matching need in himself, a need to show the whole world that this wonderful, smart, brave, funny, handsome man belonged to him. Loved him.

But they can’t make it truly official. They are still on the run, still wanted criminals. They can’t sign anything formal, can’t make anything legal. No matter how much Hannibal wishes he could. 

* * *

“I found a place.”

“Hmm?” Hannibal looked up from his newspaper, distracted. Face stood leaning in the doorway of their current safe-house, arms folded across his chest in an oddly defensive gesture.

“If you wanted to, I mean… I know we’ve talked about it, and I did some research, and - ” Face broke off, blowing out a huge breath and rubbing one hand through his hair, messing it up even more than it already was. Hannibal had to smile fondly at the familiar gesture. “And I found this place.”

“What place? And what for?” Hannibal thought he knew, even though Face was being so vague. Something that had been on both their minds recently. And something in his chest tightened, heart speeding up as his lover took a deep breath.

“They offer commitment ceremonies, promise ceremonies, blessings… They do formal marriages too, the whole works, but they do this other stuff as well. And it’s so beautiful, John, and safe, I think…” 

Even though Hannibal had hoped, had dreamed, the fact that they might have a chance took a moment to sink in. “We can do this?” he breathed, watching as Face nodded slowly, looking so nervous that Hannibal had to throw his paper to the floor and hurry across the room to him. “I can marry you?”

“Commitment ceremony,” Face murmured, nodding again while biting his lower lip, and Hannibal placed his hands on his lover’s shoulders, turning his boy until they stood face to face. “If you want to, I mean.”

“Templeton Peck,” Hannibal couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he dropped to one knee, loving the way Face gasped, taking his lover’s hand in his own. “Marry me, sweetheart?”

* * *

It won’t be an overly religious ceremony, he knows that much, despite Face’s catholic upbringing. Hannibal doesn’t really know what the host will say tomorrow, what words will be spoken as they exchange promises of love in front of their two friends. A small, private ceremony. Formal but not too formal. 

They’d been over things with the host when they arrived earlier, a tiny man named Jacques who must have been easily in his seventies, with the most calm and serene manner. Hannibal had liked him immediately, especially the warm way he had shaken their hands before pulling them each into a gentle hug. Jacques had explained again that their ceremony wouldn’t be legal, that it wouldn’t and couldn’t be recognised by any official or state. Both Hannibal and Face had said it didn’t matter. This was just for them.

Face has arranged everything, and Hannibal smiles now to think of how organised his lover has been. The resort has taken care of most things, but Face has taken care of the details, as he always does. The team have been busy these last few weeks, jobs lined up and paid for since long before Hannibal and Face had decided to do this. They are in demand, these days, and Hannibal is so proud of the way all his boys have coped with these difficult years on the run, though now it has meant Face working twice as hard. Hannibal knows he’s been so very tired recently, his precious boy, taking care of the team as he always does while worrying about the wedding. Some nights, Hannibal has barely had a chance to crawl into bed beside his lover before Face is deeply asleep, completely exhausted.

He knows Face has lost weight over the last few weeks too, though his lover won’t talk about it. Face has always been so very careful about keeping his figure, keeping his body in top condition, and that is one of the few things Hannibal wishes he could change about his boy. Yes, he loves the way Face looks, loves running his hands over his boy’s taut muscles and smooth skin. But he’d love Face whatever he looked like, though try as he might he can’t convince his lover of that fact. 

They have matching suits for the ceremony, carefully chosen by Face. Dark blue, immaculately tailored, though Hannibal knows Face had to get his taken in recently. Crisp white shirts, shoes polished until they shine. No ties, of course. Too hot here in California, near San Francisco, in this beautiful resort. The perfect wedding.

And wedding it is, in everything but name. They’ve given up any pretence of calling it a commitment ceremony, or a blessing. They are getting married tomorrow, and Hannibal’s heart soars at the thought.

All Hannibal has to do is write his own vows, which should be easy. He’s the man with the plan, after all. Three steps ahead, he’s told the boys over and over again. That’s why he’s stood out here on the edge of the sand, puffing on his third cigar. Writing his vows. 

But it’s harder than he ever expected it would be. Where does he even begin? To list all the reasons he loves Face would be to make the ceremony last for days, weeks, months… To try to put into words what Face means to him, to try to tell him just how impossible it is to imagine his life without Face by his side, these things just aren’t possible, not for Hannibal. He wishes he had his lover’s gift with words – Face’s vows will be poetic and perfect, he knows.

He’s been standing out here for hours now, watching the sun gradually set, watching the resort staff light the torches on the beach. And he still doesn’t know where to start. 

Hannibal knows he’ll probably just wing it. It’s worked for him before, flying by the seat of his pants, so why not for this, as bad as that might sound to anyone who didn’t know him. He knows the basis of what he wants to promise his lover – the whole world – and the words will come tomorrow, when he and Face are standing side by side. He’ll know what to say when it counts. He’ll let his love speak for him. 

“Hannibal? You down here?” 

He sighs a little, taking one last drag on his cigar before calling, “Yeah, Murdock. I’m here.” They’re all supposed to be meeting up for dinner later, though Hannibal doesn’t have his watch. “Is it that time already?”

Two sets of footsteps behind him. BA speaks next, just as Hannibal is turning to face them, his voice deep and serious. “Boss, we went to get Face for dinner. He’d gone to have a shower and change, but then he took so long - ”

“Face always takes ages in the shower, big guy.” And the shower in their hut is enormous and powerful – Hannibal was looking forward to utilising every inch of it later that evening, with Face in his arms. “That shouldn’t have been a surprise, surely?” BA and Murdock share a look, neither of them speaking. Hannibal knows both these men inside and out, loves them both like brothers, and that look sends ice down his spine. “What is it?” he asks, hating the way his voice suddenly sounds so weak.

Murdock holds something out in a clearly shaking hand. “We found this,” he mumbles, not meeting Hannibal’s gaze. “The door wasn’t locked, and this was on the pillow. We didn’t read it.”

Hannibal can’t tear his eyes away from the folded paper in Murdock’s hand. It’s nothing, surely. Face leaving him a love letter, maybe. A joke.

“He wasn’t nowhere to be found, Boss,” BA adds softly. “His bag is gone. And his things.”

But they wouldn’t joke about this, he knows. Finding strength from somewhere deep inside, Hannibal reaches out and takes the paper. His own hand is shaking as he opens it slowly. His vision blurs as he recognises his lover’s impossibly neat writing, and he blinks hard to try and pull the words into focus.

I have to leave. It’s not what you think.  
I love you so much, John.  
I’m so sorry. I’ll call soon.  
Your Templeton

And Hannibal’s heart breaks silently in two. 

* * * * *

Gone. Face’s things are really gone. Hannibal can’t believe it, doesn’t want to believe it, despite the note, despite BA and Murdock’s words. It can’t be true. He feels numb, hollow, standing and staring at the empty spaces in their luxury hut where his lover’s belongings had stood so recently. Gone.

They hadn’t brought much with them, of course, just enough for their two day stay here at the resort. The day after the wedding the team were to split up, Hannibal and Face having two weeks together at a secluded safe-house a few hours’ drive away, with mountains and lakes and nothing but each other, while the other two members of the team were heading north to Chicago to spend some time with BA’s beloved Mama. 

But Face never travels particularly lightly if he can possibly avoid it, and Hannibal never begrudges his lover his many little bottles of lotions and potions, nor the way he takes over every possible inch of shelf space in whichever bathroom they are sharing at any given time. Whatever makes Face feel better about himself – Hannibal simply doesn’t care, as long as his precious boy is happy. 

Now, the bathroom is empty apart from the few items Hannibal owns. Razor and shaving foam. A single bottle of shampoo and a plain body wash. Toothbrush and toothpaste. The single sachet of lube he’d stashed in here earlier, in anticipation of an evening of love making, which seems to be mocking him from its position in the shower cubicle. 

The wardrobe is virtually empty, apart from their matching suits, side by side in their protective plastic covers. Even the drawers have been emptied of Face’s shirts and underwear – the Army trained both of them too well, and they always unpack properly, always. Hannibal feels that numbness start to ebb, anger beginning to take its place.

In the last drawer, next to Hannibal’s own underwear, is a single pair of socks, clearly missed as his lover packed to leave. Luxury cashmere, these can only be Face’s. Carefully folded, not balled up. That only ruins the elastic, his lover had once lectured him, and Hannibal had listened while trying to conceal his fond smile. And now that anger snaps and he seizes up the socks, hurling them across the room in a single fluid gesture.

A pointless gesture, of course. The socks separate as they fly through the air, smacking harmlessly into the wall of the cabin by the door. One slips down to land on the floor silently, while the other is caught by a quick hand as Murdock steps hesitantly inside. 

“Anything?” the pilot asks quietly, distress plain on his open features.

Hannibal shakes his head, trying to swallow down his anger. “He’s taken everything. He’s really gone.” And just as quickly as it hit him, the anger fades away, taking most of his strength with it. He sinks down onto the bed, feeling the wonderful give of the soft king-sized mattress, the silk sheets that sent Face into raptures. They don’t matter now.

Murdock holds out the sock to him, and Hannibal takes it mindlessly as the other man comes to sit by his side, fingers curling around it tightly. “There’s a reason, Boss,” Murdock whispers. “Got to be a reason, right? He said it’s not what you think.”

“I don’t know what to think,” Hannibal confesses, and he really doesn’t. What reason could there possibly be, except that Face doesn’t want to marry him after all, and doesn’t know how to tell him?

A gentle knock at the door snaps both their heads up and around, but it’s only BA, looking both worried and apologetic. “Receptionist remembers seeing him getting in a car with some guy,” he reports from the doorway, apparently unwilling to step further into the room. “About two hours ago, she reckons.”

Next to him, Murdock whimpers, but Hannibal shakes his head again, firmly. No way. Not Face. “He’s not cheating on me, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.” Face simply doesn’t have it in him to be unfaithful, he knows. His boy has been with other men, and women, while they’ve been together, but always with Hannibal’s blessing, usually with his presence, and never in the last few years. His lover has a deeply ingrained sense of honour, and Hannibal has never doubted Face’s love for him, the trust and truth they both share. Not until now, at least. “He must have been getting a ride somewhere.”

“Has he answered his phone yet?”

“No.” Hannibal has been trying every few minutes, Murdock too. Face’s phone is turned off, and it doesn’t even go to voicemail. He’s sent message after message, begging his lover to call him, telling him he isn’t mad, just confused and worried.

Though the anger is starting to come back now, and Hannibal has to move. He pushes up off the bed, starts pacing, still clutching that damned sock. Why the hell would Face do this? Even wracking his brains, Hannibal can’t see any indication that anything had been wrong, no signs of pre-wedding jitters or nerves. What did he miss? What was Face hiding from him?

“He wrote, ‘I have to leave’. Not ‘I want to leave’ or ‘I need to leave’,” Murdock says softly. “Something must’ve happened.”

“Obviously, you crazy fool.” BA’s familiar growl is oddly comforting to Hannibal, even as he tries to think back over Face’s behaviour. “But what?”

Nothing. He can’t think of anything. Face is skilled beyond all belief at hiding his emotions when he wants to, but there are always tells. Hannibal simply can’t think of any signs he might have missed that his beloved boy was unhappy at all, let alone unhappy enough to do this. He honestly thought Face was as excited as he was about their wedding, and that they had reached a place in their relationship where they would talk to each other, rather than running and hiding, if something happened or something felt wrong.

“I have to find him,” he declares, the only thing he knows for certain. “Have to talk to him.” A sudden thought and he turns to BA, “Did the receptionist - ?” 

“She didn’t get the registration number, Boss.” Of course his man would have thought to ask that, and Hannibal’s heart sinks a little further. “She thinks it might’ve been a red car, but it could’ve been dark brown. She’s sure it was him, though.” And of course she would be – Face is noticeable, captivating, breathtakingly handsome. Hannibal has always known he wasn’t the only one who thinks so.

“Damnit all to hell!!” he explodes, slamming his hand flat against the wall of the hut. “Stupid, kid. Really, really stupid!”

“Boss…” Murdock stands now, coming closer to him, but Hannibal can’t stand that look of pity on his face and brushes past him, starting to pace again.

“If this is because he’s freaking out – All those abandonment issues, all the work I’ve put into showing him I’ll never leave him – If he’s having some sort of panic attack – ”

“What, Hannibal?” BA finally steps into the hut, blocking his path, standing firm with arms crossed and muscles bulging. “What you gonna do?”

“I’ll…” Of all things, tears spring to his eyes now, and Hannibal blinks them away furiously. Damn this rollercoaster of emotions. Damn everything. Damn Face for running, for not talking to him, for leaving… He gasps loudly, as if it has only just hit him. Face has gone. “I’ll tell him again, and again, as many times as it takes. I love him. And we don’t have to do this if he doesn’t want to; nothing has to change unless he wants it.”

Murdock is by his side now, one skinny arm thrown up and around his shoulders, and BA wraps a big hand around Hannibal’s bicep, squeezing tightly, holding him steady. Hannibal is so very glad that they are here, that he isn’t alone. That he didn’t find the note and have to tell them…

“I can’t lose him.” It’s a bleak realisation – he always knew Face was the most important thing in his life, the one thing he couldn’t live without. “I just can’t.”

Murdock is dialling his phone again with his free hand, while BA just holds Hannibal’s gaze steadily, nodding slowly. “Give him time, man. If he’s freaking out, he’ll come back. He said he’d call – you just got to wait, and be strong.” A long speech from the quiet man of the group, and it makes sense. Always the voice of reason, this man. 

“He’s been so tired.” Hannibal is thinking aloud, clutching at straws still. “Stressed, I figured. Over-worked. I should’ve known something like this might happen. I should never have forced him to do this…”

“Stop that.” Murdock shakes him a little, and it jolts Hannibal back into reality. “He wanted this as much as you did, and you know it.”

The sentence hangs in the air as if it had physical presence. Past tense. Wanted. Murdock looks stricken, horrified, as he tries to correct himself, stumbling over his words, trying to say ‘wants’, but the damage is done.

Face is gone. And it seems all Hannibal can do is wait. And wonder where it all went so wrong.

* * * * *

Hannibal spends a long and sleepless night pacing the hut, walking in aimless circles around the bed. The luxury of the room seems to mock him more and more as the night drags on – the honeymoon suite where he and Face should have been so very happy together – and eventually he retreats to the beach outside their hut, pacing the sand instead, phone clutched in one hand, unlit cigar in the other.

As the hours pass, he swings from anger to sadness to numbness, then back again, his mind still unable to process everything. Unable to believe this isn’t some pathetic attempt at a joke.

He’s lost count now of how many times he’s dialled Face’s number, only to hear that mechanical voice tell him the phone is switched off and he cannot leave a message. Nothing. No voicemail. No indication his many text messages have been received, let alone read. 

Around 2am he convinces himself there must have been a car crash, an accident, that his lover was lying in an emergency room somewhere, unable to call him as promised. Or worse, that his beloved Templeton was already dead, and that Hannibal would truly never see him again.

Then the anger returns full force. How dare Face put him through this? With no hint of a reason, nothing to say why he’s run except that short note. Hannibal has been over every word again and again, searching for a hidden meaning. A secret message. Anything. Was it even possible that Face had been seeing someone else behind Hannibal’s back, this strange man with the red or brown car? And the anger grows again as Hannibal curses his lover for making him question everything he believes about the relationship and the love they’ve shared for so long.

Around 4am he starts thinking big. What if Face hadn’t left voluntarily? He’d obviously not been kidnapped at gunpoint, not unless the kidnappers took the time to pack all his belongings carefully and take them along, everything except that single pair of socks which still sit on the pillow of the bed, laughing at Hannibal every time he peers into the hut. Not kidnapped at gunpoint, but what if Face had been forced to leave somehow?

Hannibal starts a mental list of who might have a reason to tear Face away from him. Trying to think of reasons Face might have been blackmailed into leaving, or convinced the only way to save Hannibal was to leave him behind.

But nothing makes any sense at all. Their recent jobs have all been tied up neatly, with no loose ends Hannibal can think of. The team really have become incredibly good at what they do, and there have been no signs of the military police on their tail for months now. None of the enemies Hannibal or the team have made over the years – and there are more than a few, sadly – would mess with them in this particularly twisted way. There are a few who would certainly put a bullet through Face’s head given half a chance, but these are the people who would leave his beautiful body in a bloody pool for Hannibal to find, not the people who would stage a runaway wedding. 

Which all just leaves Hannibal back at square one. The very likely fact is that Face has freaked out and run, for his own screwed up reasons. And is now too terrified to call Hannibal, or even to turn on his own mobile phone, not expecting his lover to forgive him for this or to ever want him back.

And that just makes Hannibal so angry, all over again, though he feels terrible at the same time. Face has issues on top of issues, Hannibal has always known that. Just how the kid managed to make it through Ranger school, he’ll never know – it says a hell of a lot about just how determined and stubborn his boy truly is, as well as how dedicated he can be. But Face’s biggest issues have always been a lack of self-confidence, evidenced by his obsession with his body and keeping his looks, among other things, and his terrible fear of abandonment. He always tries to push people away or run, before they get a chance to leave him.

Even after all these years together, Hannibal knows he hasn’t cured Face of his issues, though he dared to hope they were over the worst of them. The army of lotions in his lover’s wash-bag he can live with, though the still-obsessive diets and workout routines have to be watched carefully. Not to mention the way the kid had slimmed down recently, obviously watching his weight for their wedding.

Around 6am, watching the sun rise slowly over the beach, Hannibal feels his mind and body dull with exhaustion. He has no idea what might have happened to trigger Face’s fear of abandonment this time, if that really is the problem at the heart of it all, the reason his boy felt he had to leave. What could Hannibal possibly have said wrong, and not noticed? Was it something the host said when they’d talked, something about the fact that their ceremony wasn’t legal and binding? After everything, does Face really need that extra level of security – doesn’t he know Hannibal can’t give him that, as much as he might want to?

Murdock and BA try and fail to drag him away from the hut for breakfast, telling him he has to keep his strength up and stay positive. Hannibal doesn’t want to go far, in case Face calls the hut directly rather than his mobile. That sparks a moment of panic and, even though he hates himself for doing it, he phones his mobile from the room just to check it is working, feeling like a stupid teenage girl waiting for her boyfriend to call. But he still had to check. Just in case.

Jacques, the host, comes by midmorning, apparently alert to the fact that something is wrong. Their ceremony is scheduled for after lunch, and Hannibal still holds out some hope that maybe, just maybe, Face will return by then – he is angry, yes, and frustrated, but he knows himself well enough to admit that, if Face wants to, he would still marry his lover today. In a heartbeat.

“Is there anything I can do?” Jacques offers, holding Hannibal’s hand tightly in his own.

“Thank you, but no.” Hannibal can hear the roughness in his voice, and hates it. “It’s probably nerves, I think. He said he’ll call.”

Not a hint of sympathy in the old man’s face, thank goodness, just that same calmness he had displayed yesterday before Hannibal’s world had been shattered. “If he truly isn’t ready, then perhaps this is for the best, although I understand that it probably doesn’t feel like that for you.”

“Did you notice anything?” He searches those wise eyes for some sign, something he might have missed. “Yesterday, when we talked. Did you see something might have been wrong?”

A small smile crosses the host’s face as he shakes his head. “I saw nothing but two men very much in love,” Jacques says softly. “I had nothing but good feelings about performing your ceremony today, and no doubts at all about your commitment to each other.”

Time passes slowly, quietly. Hannibal refuses to go to lunch, telling Murdock and BA to leave him alone. Only half an hour now until he should be marrying the love of his life. They should be getting ready right now – Hannibal should be teasing his lover about the amount of time Face has spent in the shower, all the while stealing adoring looks at his handsome better half in his perfectly fitted suit.

Hannibal should be panicking slightly because he still isn’t a hundred percent certain what he will say when asked to recite his vows, yet at the same time he should be completely calm because he knows without any shadow of a doubt that he wants to do this, wants to marry his Templeton.

Instead, Hannibal is sitting on what should be their bed, resting against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankles. He holds their two rings one in each hand, his phone lying in his lap. He is always the man with a plan, three steps ahead, but he has no idea what to do now. Waiting for his runaway lover to turn on his phone again, that simply isn’t an acceptable plan as far as he’s concerned.

Hannibal knows that, if he truly wanted to, Face could swap identities and vanish completely in a heartbeat. He can’t think of anywhere his boy might run to, anyone he might turn to – they haven’t been in contact with Sosa for over a year now, not that he thinks for a second that Face would run to her after everything that happened between them. And, while they are reasonably close to LA, Hannibal is certain Face wouldn’t run to his old orphanage. The last priest who knew Face as a child passed away last year, and Hannibal knows his lover feels any ties he might still have there have been severed.

Needing to do something, Hannibal snatches the notepad and pencil from the bedside table. A list, maybe, of people Face might turn to, people they’ve met over the years while on the run. Places he might feel safe. The thought of him sitting alone in a miserable motel room is more than Hannibal can bear. The rings are placed carefully on the bed, his phone checked once again, and then something on the pad catches Hannibal’s eye. A shadow in the light.

Feeling a sudden surge of hope that sends his heart racing, Hannibal tilts the paper carefully into the light. There are indentations there; someone has written something hard enough to leave a mark on the page below, and he hurries across the room to the table, pad and pencil in hand.

Carefully, oh so very carefully, he shades the pencil lightly across the sheet of paper until he can make out a letter, then more, words and then a name. 

St Barnabas 10am Dr Hoffman. 

It’s Face’s writing, Hannibal is certain. His lover has such a distinctive script, so neat and precise, even when rushed as this clearly was. A note, written while on the phone, perhaps? His first thought on seeing the name of a saint is that Face has run home after all, or to the nearest place he ever had to home as a child. But he’s certain he knows by now all the orphanages and churches his precious boy spent time at, and St Barnabas rings no bells of recollection. And the name of a doctor?

Two minutes on the laptop and he has his answer, leaving his head spinning and his heart pounding. He hadn’t even considered this as a possibility, isn’t even exactly sure what this is. Is Face visiting someone, a visit that couldn’t wait – but then why wouldn’t he say something? Why run, and why leave such a cryptic note for Hannibal?

St Barnabas Medical Centre, on the outskirts of San Francisco. There is a Doctor James Hoffman listed on the staff, a specialist in – 

Hannibal squeezes his eyes shut tight, slamming the laptop closed with a force that rattles the table and almost certainly cracks the screen. Why the hell hadn’t Face talked to him? Told him something was wrong?

Then he is up and moving, reaching for his bag, calculating how quickly he can be packed up and on the road. Hannibal has a starting point now, a time and a place, and he’s determined to find his lover if it’s the last thing he does. Whatever Face is going through, whatever this truly is, he shouldn’t be alone. There will be time enough to lecture him and to argue with him about the stupidity of running away, after Hannibal has had the time to reassure his boy that, whatever is wrong, he will always love him and always help him.

All he has to do is find him.

* * * * *

The longer he waits, the harder it becomes. Face knows it won’t get any easier, knows he should have called Hannibal a dozen times already. But the phone in his hands feels like a lead weight, screen still dark and tormenting him as he sits in the dim light of his motel room, alone.

The longer the waits, the more difficult it will be to explain all of this, he knows. He’s been waiting, putting it off, hoping he’d finally get some answers to share with his lover, but each test seems to lead only to new questions, and he can’t put it off any longer. Hannibal needs to know what’s happening.

No, that isn’t accurate enough. Hannibal deserves to know what’s happening, why Face took off the way he did. Face regrets that, more than he regrets any of the other crazy things he’s done in his life. Leaving the way he did, with only a note for his lover, his fiancée for goodness sake… The most stupid thing he’s ever done, and he’s done some really, really stupid things.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, as pathetic as that might sound. Seemed like the only idea, the only real option he had open to him. The phone call he’d received had sent him into a complete spin – he’d genuinely forgotten about the tests he’d had done, and hearing the doctor’s low, serious voice on the line, urging him to come in to meet with a specialist tomorrow, today, had sent every other consideration flying straight out of his head.

What kind of asshole does this make him, Face wonders? Running away the night before his wedding, leaving a short note on the pillow. Promising to call but, so far, not finding the strength to do so. What hell is he putting his lover through right now?

Hannibal. Face has to choke back a sob at the thought of the man he loves more than life itself, all wonderful tall handsome power, so kind and caring, so loving. Always so understanding of all the baggage Face has, so willing to help him through it. Hannibal has always been there for him, and always will be, he knows that.

Or will he? After Face has done this, literally left the man at the altar, is this the one time he may have pushed him too far?

Ironic, really, Face thinks with a snort of laughter. He’s the one with abandonment issues. It took years and a lot of patient work from Hannibal before Face truly believed what the Colonel told him, what he still tells him again every single time they make love.

I’m right here. I love you. I’ll never leave you.

And he does believe that, with all his heart. Their wedding should have sealed that between them forever – Face doesn’t care that it isn’t truly legal, all that matters is the two of them, making their vows and exchanging rings in front of their two best friends.

He’s the one with abandonment issues, but he’s the one who’s run for the hills on the eve of their wedding. Hannibal is perfectly within his rights to want nothing more to do with him. Honestly, Face thinks he’ll be lucky if Hannibal even agrees to answer the phone.

He should call. He really should. Try to explain some of this, try to apologise. Tell Hannibal why he’s done what he’s done, in the terrible way he has. The longer he waits, the harder it becomes, and he owes Hannibal some sort of explanation. It really isn’t what his lover will be thinking – he knows Hannibal too well after all these years together, can see the way his precious man’s thoughts will have turned. He’ll be thinking that Face has panicked, suddenly doubting in Hannibal’s love for him. When that couldn’t be further from the truth.

But where does he even start? How can he begin to explain his reasons? It isn’t that he doubts Hannibal’s love – he could never do that, and he hopes Hannibal won’t doubt Face loves him in return. He knows Hannibal loves him completely and utterly, body and soul, but it looks like it might be the ‘body’ part of that arrangement which is in trouble. Hannibal will be terrified for him, and he will stay because he feels he has to, not thinking things through, not listening to reason. 

Face has to be the strong one here, has to push him away. If he can.

If his test results come back showing the worst case scenario, if he needs long term treatment, if he has to stay in one place in order to beat this, whatever it is… If that happens, Hannibal can’t stay, Face won’t let him. Too many risks. He can’t watch Hannibal being taken back to prison if he is caught, not because of him. He just can’t.

With that thought, the all-encompassing exhaustion that has plagued him these last weeks starts to set in again, and the phone feels so very heavy in his hand. Maybe just a nap, a quick rest to get his strength back before he has to make the most difficult call of his life.

And his eyes slip closed before he’s even fully aware of it.

* * *

He’s dreaming, he knows, somehow, one of those rare moments when he is aware he is dreaming but can’t do anything except watch.

“Marry me, sweetheart?” Hannibal’s words were so very right, the perfect proposal. Much like the way they had danced around the subject of love when they first met, gradually inching closer and closer until they finally fell into each other’s arms. It had seemed inevitable then, and it seemed inevitable now, that they would find a way to do this, to marry, once the idea was there. 

“Marry me, sweetheart?” Hannibal on one knee before him, clutching his hand tightly, those beautiful blue-grey eyes wide with obvious nerves, so rare for this man who is always so confident and sure.

“Marry me, sweetheart?” The perfect proposal; no flowery poetry or epic declarations of love from Hannibal, no old-fashioned concepts of ‘would you do me the very great honour’. Straight to the point, then that rare pet name which never fails to make Face’s knees grow weak. 

“Marry me, sweetheart?” Words Face has longed to hear, words he wanted so badly, words he never realised he needed to have in his life. Forever. He wants to spend forever with this incredible man, fighting by his side, in his arms and in his bed.

His dream-self falls to his knees in front of Hannibal, just as his true-self did at the time, unashamed of the tears of joy starting to escape his eyes, and they kiss, right there in the doorway, soft and gentle yet strong and passionate at the same time. Just like Hannibal, who reaches one big hand up to cup Face’s head, wrapping long fingers into short curls and supporting his lover’s head as he crowds in, using his taller frame to bend Face backwards against the wall, stealing all his air and making his head spin.

They break apart for a moment, long enough for Face to bring his own hands up, locking them tightly behind Hannibal’s head, holding them close together, forehead to forehead, both breathing hard. Long enough for Face to whisper, “Yes!”

Then, suddenly, Face is pushing Hannibal back and away, and that isn’t right. That isn’t how it happened at all; Hannibal scooped Face up into his arms and climbed to his feet, carrying his lover as if he weighed nothing more than a child, and they kissed again and again as they moved quickly into the bedroom.

But in the dream Face is pushing Hannibal away, and he can’t stop himself, no matter how much he wishes he could.

Almost in slow motion, Hannibal is falling away from him, hurt and confusion in his eyes, falling further and further, falling forever, until his head hits the wooden floor with a hard knocking sound, and he is still.

Again he falls, and again, that knocking sound growing louder and faster, and – 

* * *

Face jolts awake with a start, breathing too fast and heart pounding in his chest. Blinking into the darkness of the room, he wipes one shaky hand over his eyes and tries to calm his breathing. What a dream, he thinks – it doesn’t take a psychoanalyst to decipher the meanings behind that.

Disoriented and groggy, it takes him a long moment to realise that knocking has followed him out of his dream. Someone is knocking on his door.

Carefully climbing out of his chair, Face feels the twinge and ache in his hip all over again. Mild pain, they’d said, and it was mild so far, though getting worse as the afternoon wore on. Evening now, he realises, glancing quickly at his watch before limping slowly over to the door.

Far too many years of caution just to throw the door open, though he can barely muster the energy to care. No one knows he is here except the medical centre; no one should be outside his door on the first night he should be spending with his husband as a newlywed. All he really wants to do is crawl into his bed and cry himself to sleep, but he still hasn’t called Hannibal, and he’s on his feet now, so he forces himself to peer through the spyhole.

Then he looks again, unable to believe what his eyes are telling him.

It isn’t possible, surely, to summon somebody just by thinking about them. It isn’t possible for this man to be here, to have found him so fast – he thought he’d been so careful, though in his exhaustion and sadness at leaving he must have missed something, some detail, somewhere.

Face’s instinct is still to crawl straight over to the bed and hide beneath the blankets, now more than ever. He’ll be mad, Face thinks, or worse. Disappointed, certainly, and hurt, so badly hurt by what Face has done. Then terribly worried, when Face tries to explain. If he has the energy to explain.

He doesn’t look mad, though, just concerned as he reaches up to knock again, then once more, harder now. He’ll leave in a moment, Face knows, or pull out his lock-picks. It’s now or never.

Gulping in a huge breath, Face slides the chain off and pulls the door open in one sweeping gesture. The man outside remains frozen in position, arm still raised mid-knock, and for a second they just stand there, staring into each other’s eyes. 

Be strong, Face tells himself, trying to school his expression and calm his racing heart. But his body has other ideas, and he finds himself stepping forwards into Hannibal’s waiting embrace, those strong arms he loves so much taking all his weight as his strength abandons him.

“I’m right here,” Hannibal whispers in his ear. “I love you. I’ll never leave you.”

“I’m sorry…” Face whispers back. “I can explain…”

A growl. “You’d better. I’m pissed, Temp, but I’m here. Everything will be okay now.”

And for just a moment, Face allows himself to believe that might be true. Before reality crashes back down around him. 

* * * * *

All of Hannibal’s angry words, the whole speech he’d prepared during the long drive, they all die in his throat the moment Face opens the door. His boy looks so bleary-eyed, so confused and hopeful and scared all at the same time – probably scared of him, Hannibal realises, of how he is here and why.

When Face virtually falls forward into his arms, it is pure instinct to catch him and hold him close, soothe him with words whispered a thousand times before, always the truest words he can offer his lover.

“I’m right here,” he whispers, as Face just clings tighter, heavy in his arms. “I love you. I’ll never leave you.”

What is it about this precious man? This infuriating, stubborn man? What is it that makes Hannibal want to protect him, to keep him safe and look after him forever? He knows Face is a soldier, a Ranger, but more than that he is a survivor. He’d survived so much shit in his young life, then wormed his way out of so much more during their years in the army. So often taking point in their work, Face has been the one injured, beaten, targeted, but he always comes through with a smile and a snarky comeback.

Still, that desire deep inside Hannibal to protect his boy doesn’t fade at all as Face whispers back, pressed against his chest, “I’m sorry. I can explain…”

“You’d better,” he growls, letting loose some of that anger he’s carrying with him. “I’m pissed, Temp, but I’m here. Everything will be okay now.”

Face pulls away at that, sniffing a little, and stands aside to let Hannibal into his motel room. It’s dark, but Hannibal lets his runaway lover deal with that, settling himself straight down into one of the two chairs in the room, pulling the other around to face it.

He can feel his body thrumming with tension, knows he is an uncomfortable mixture of anger and hurt and worry – what has his precious boy been through today at this Doctor Hoffman’s? – but rather than just rip straight into Face as he wants, he sits still, forcing his body to relax.

Whatever this is, he is sure Face is trying to push him away for some reason, however screwed up that reason might be. Shouting now will just let him push harder, and Hannibal has absolutely no intention of being pushed anywhere.

So he sits and waits, while Face takes as long as he possibly can, fetching a sweater and pulling it on over his thin shirt, turning on the lights and shuffling some of his stuff off the bed, grabbing two bottles of water from the mini-fridge – and he’s limping a little, Hannibal can’t help but notice – before eventually sitting down, lowering himself carefully into the seat and tugging a cushion down to his lower back.

Slowly, deliberately, Hannibal takes his bottle of water and cracks the lid, taking a long drink, keeping his eyes fixed on his lover the whole time. Face keeps shifting in his chair, clearly waiting for Hannibal to start, but eventually he seems to understand that he won’t make this easy on him. Face has to be the one to do this.

Eventually, the younger man takes a deep breath. “I should’ve called, John. I’m sorry…”

“Yes, you should have.” He tries hard to keep his voice steady and calm. “But is that really where you want to start?”

Face swallows hard, hands tightening around the arms of his chair. “I don’t know where to start. I’ve done everything wrong – I’m a screw-up, Boss, you know that. I need to apologise for so much, and I just don’t know where to start. You didn’t deserve this, John, and I really am sorry.”

But Face won’t get out of this that easily, and Hannibal lets another little flare of anger out. “Don’t do that, kid. You don’t get to just announce that you did it all wrong and I deserve better. I deserve more than a feeble excuse like that, and you know it.”

“Sorry,” is the whispered response, bright blue eyes dropped to stare at the carpet, and this is all so familiar Hannibal could cry. All of Face’s insecurities, all over again. Hannibal telling him what to do. And some of his anger melts away.

“Start at the beginning, sweetheart,” he says softly. “Tell me everything. I promise not to get mad until I know everything. Then I’ll shout at you if I want. Deal?”

* * *

Face manages what he knows is a pathetic smile at his lover’s suggestion. He knows he owes Hannibal nothing less than the whole truth, carefully worded of course, but he really doesn’t know where to start.

“How’d you find me?” he asks instead, curious more than anything, and Hannibal sighs, sitting back in his chair.

“You wrote your appointment time and place on the notepad in our hut – it left an indentation.” Hannibal doesn’t offer anything else so Face just nods, able to put the pieces together. Hannibal would’ve found the medical centre easily enough and, while their records are obviously confidential, Face has conned his way around enough secretaries and nurses to know there are always ways of getting information.

It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that Hannibal is almost as good a conman as Face is.

Still not sure where to start, still so damn tired, Face sits carefully back into his own chair. Hannibal is watching him, seeming to be the very model of calm and patience, though Face knows his man well enough to see the carefully controlled emotions, buried just beneath the surface. 

It breaks his heart a little to know that he is the cause of his lover’s pain, but now he has to add to it.

“I guess… Two months ago, you remember we all caught colds?” Hannibal frowns, clearly wondering why he’s starting there, but Face has his reasons. “Murdock got sick first, then you and BA too, but we were in the middle of that job with the Millers and their crooked lawyer, so we all just worked through it?”

“You’ve been sick for two months?” His lover’s voice is soft, but Hannibal still doesn’t move a muscle.

Face shakes his head. “I felt better after a couple of days, like you all did. But they think maybe I wasn’t better, I’m not better now, and that maybe that might be a part of it.”

“Temp…”

“I haven’t been hiding anything, John.” Be honest, he tells himself again. Hiding things has been a hard habit to break over the years. “I haven’t been throwing up in secret, haven’t been getting headaches or fevers. I’ve just been exhausted, you know that, and I’ve lost some weight.” He’s been eating as much as he ever does, he’s sure, but all his clothes hang loose now, and he can see his ribs when he looks in the mirror. That’s never a good look.

“I know that too.” Water forgotten, Hannibal sits forward now, eyes sharp and focussed. “I thought you were stressed about the wedding, that I was working you too hard with the missions. I thought, maybe, you were on a diet thinking you’d look good on our big day.”

He has to admit, that might have been something he would’ve done, when they were both younger. Not now. But Face can’t miss the way Hannibal’s voice catches when he says ‘wedding’, and it makes his chest hurt. “I wasn’t.”

“Do the doctors… This Doctor Hoffman, does he know what’s going on?” Hannibal sounds almost scared to ask, and Face feels his own carefully buried fear kick back up again. 

“No, they don’t. I had some blood tests done, then they asked me to go back in today for some other tests. They think it’s probably just a bad viral infection – that cold hanging on still – but where I haven’t had many symptoms, and my blood work is so screwed up…” He shrugs, tailing off, not wanting to go into detail but knowing Hannibal will want to know everything.

Sure enough, his worried lover reaches one hand across the gap between their two chairs, and Face stretches back to reach him, letting Hannibal wrap his long, strong fingers around Face’s own slightly smaller hand. “Talk to me, kid. Please.”

So Face does. He tells Hannibal how it had been spur of the moment to talk to a doctor; the walk-in clinic with no queue and a smiling receptionist, him with two hours to kill before their client got done with his meetings. A follow-up visit two days later, while Hannibal was out of town for the job. ‘Probably nothing, but your blood count is very low, we’d like to double-check…’

How he’d genuinely forgotten he’d never got the second set of results, caught up in the rush of their last job, adrenaline overriding the tiredness, then the excitement about their wedding. Then the phone call telling him he needed to come in to see the specialist, for yet more tests.

Hannibal’s grip on his hand becomes painfully tight at that point, and Face tries to skim over the way he’d run out on their wedding, for now. But instead he stutters to a stop, unable to meet his lover’s eyes.

* * *

Hannibal listens, numb, as his partner talks quietly through the last weeks. He isn’t entirely convinced the kid isn’t still hiding something from him, doesn’t quite believe he hasn’t had any other symptoms. Face has been deliberately vague about what the doctors have told him – low white blood cell count, anaemia, something about platelets – but Hannibal has a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. Thinks he knows what the doctors are trying to rule out, or confirm, and that thought scares the life out of him. Makes his own blood run cold.

Right now, though, Face has run out of words, trying to explain why he ran away. Hannibal can imagine his lover being scared and confused, but – 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, knowing he’s squeezing his lover’s hand too tightly but unable to convince his fingers to relax even a fraction. “Why run? Forget earlier, though I still want to know why the hell you didn’t tell me you’d seen a doctor in the first place – why didn’t you tell me when you got that phone call? Why not say, ‘John, this has happened, and we can’t get married tomorrow’?”

Face says nothing, back to staring at the carpet.

“Did you think I wouldn’t want you anymore?” he presses, shaking the hand he is still clinging to. “Did you think this would matter to me in that way? Haven’t I told you, shown you, again and again that it is you I love, not just your body but what’s inside? In sickness and in health, Temp, and I would’ve meant it, every word.”

“Tell me you weren’t going to use those words in your vows?” So quiet Hannibal has to strain to hear; so very typical of Face to try to hide behind smart words at a time like this.

“You walked out, so you don’t know,” Hannibal says harshly, too harshly perhaps as Face wrenches his hand away, rocking back as if punched. “What did you expect I’d think? You were seen leaving with some strange man – ”

“He gave me a lift…”

“ – and all your things were gone. Everything, gone.” Breathing hard now, he can’t stop the words spilling out of his mouth. Doesn’t really want to. “What the hell was I supposed to think? Either you’d run away with someone else, and everything I thought I knew about us was wrong, or you’d panicked at the last minute, didn’t want me or thought I didn’t want you.”

Tears in his lover’s eyes now, bright in the harsh light as Face finally lifts his gaze. “John, no, never…”

“And that note, what was that?” He can’t sit any longer, needing to move, so he climbs to his feet, pacing the few steps he can in the small motel room. “Do you think you could’ve been a little more vague if you tried? ‘It’s not what you think’? Were you trying to break my heart?”

He didn’t realise just how loudly he was shouting – now he’s stopped, the silence seems sudden and oppressive. Tears in his own eyes now, for himself, for Face, for the wedding they should’ve had.

Behind him, the sounds of someone getting to their feet, a soft gasp of what could be pain, and Hannibal spins on his heels to see his darling boy walking slowly over to him. Limping. And once again, he instinctively opens his arms to Face, still needing to hold him, to be with him, despite all this mess. But this time, Face keeps his distance.

* * *

“I never meant to break your heart, baby. Though I guess I probably have.” Face knows his lover wants to hold him, but he stays back, just out of reach. He needs to stay strong now. “Yes, I panicked, but about the doctors and the tests, not about us. I want nothing more than to marry you, but the timing… I meant to call you when I got here, but I fell asleep, I was so tired.” Completely exhausted really, what was becoming his standard state of existence, and he’d fallen asleep in his clothes on top of the blankets. He hadn’t woken until just before his appointment in the morning.

“Excuses, not reasons. Why didn’t you tell me?” Hannibal has his arms folded across his chest now, blinking rapidly, and Face can feel ice forming in his spine. He can count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen Hannibal cry, and it breaks him a little more each time.

“I don’t have reasons,” he blurts. “Not acceptable ones, anyway. When have I ever been reasonable? I wanted to have all the answers before I told you, and I didn’t want you to be stuck dealing with me when I’m a mess, and I’m sick, and I didn’t want you to worry...” A twinge in his hip again, and he breaks off, swaying sideways, Hannibal moving quickly to steady him.

“Sit down,” his lover tells him, trying to move him back towards the chairs, but Face shakes his head. “Why are you limping?”

The fear in the older man’s voice breaks the last shred of resolve Face had to keep Hannibal at arm’s length. He can make him leave later, make him see that it’s for the best; right now, it just feels so good to have his lover’s hands on his body, strong and supportive.

“They stuck a huge needle in my hip bone this afternoon,” he confesses, and watches as Hannibal’s eyes go wide and that handsome face goes pale.

“Bone marrow?” Hannibal whispers, and all Face can do is nod, seeing the moment his lover puts the pieces together. “They think... They’re looking at leukaemia, or – ”

“Don’t say that,” Face snaps. “They want to rule it out, but they say it’s probably just a virus.” It has to be a virus, right? The doctors are just covering every possible base, running every test they can. “It’s a virus,” he whispers again, and doesn’t resist as Hannibal pulls him into a tight embrace.

“Oh, sweetheart…” They stand together for a long moment, Hannibal’s breath warm against his ear, but Face can’t stand any longer, his leg threatening to give way beneath him.

“We can keep talking, baby, you can keep shouting and telling me how stupid I’ve been, but I have to lie down.” In years past, he never would have admitted that. Hell, he never would have seen the doctor in the first place. Face hopes Hannibal knows just how much he’s grown, and how it is all because of the strength Hannibal’s love gives him.

Hannibal presses a quick kiss to his lips, the first since he turned up at Face’s door. That one kiss fills Face with hope – maybe he hasn’t ruined everything, maybe he still has a chance to fix this between them. Maybe he hasn’t broken Hannibal’s heart completely. And maybe he’ll still have a chance to convince Hannibal not to put himself at risk if Face does need treatment. He can’t stay, he just can’t. Face will have a hard enough time keeping himself under the radar, let alone if Hannibal is by his side every minute, no matter how much he might want him there. 

But all that will have to wait. Hannibal quickly and efficiently helps Face to the bed, guides him down onto the soft mattress, helps him stretch out on his right side. “You need anything?” Hannibal asks. “You got painkillers, or…?”

“Just over-the-counter stuff, and not for another hour yet.” Hannibal runs gentle fingers through Face’s hair, and the tender gesture brings fresh tears to his eyes. “I really am sorry.”

Hannibal moves up and away. He’s leaving, Face thinks with a jolt, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling a single tear escape onto the pillow. Maybe that kiss was actually a kiss goodbye. 

But then the bed dips behind him, and his lover’s familiar heat presses close as Hannibal stretches out behind him, close but not quite touching. A big, warm hand is placed gently on his lower hip, his upper thigh really, fingers curling lightly around and holding him safe.

“I know you’re sorry,” Hannibal whispers in his ear. “And you’re right, we aren’t done talking about this, not even close. But I’m done shouting right now, kid, I promise.”

“I really do want to marry you, you know,” Face whispers back, turning his head slightly so he can glimpse his lover over his shoulder. “And I really do love you.”

“And I love you too, more than anything in the world.” Another quick kiss to his lips, raw emotion in Hannibal’s voice. “Whatever this is, if it’s just a virus, or… Whatever this is, you know I’ll be here with you. And I’ll get you through this – I won’t leave you, Temp, I promise you that too.”

Lying so comfortably, the wonderful warmth from Hannibal’s hand soothing the ache in his side, Face can already feel himself falling asleep. But he finds the strength to shake his head, just the once. “You can’t stay,” he murmurs sadly. “We’ll talk about it later.”

But Hannibal can’t leave it there. “I won’t leave you,” he states again, so much determination there, and Face wonders again how he got so lucky as to have this wonderful man’s love.

“John…” he breathes, as sleep finally pulls him under. “We’ll talk about it later.” 

* * * * *

Hannibal sits on the porch swing, rocking it ever so gently, looking out at the dusty land beyond the fence. This isn’t anywhere near the honeymoon getaway they’d planned, but it is close to Face’s doctors, closer to civilisation, though still secluded and safe. It’s just the two of them, at least, the best move they could possibly have made in the circumstances. They’ve been able to talk, and argue, and shout, and cry a little too. And Face has been able to sleep as much as he wants, as much as he needs, more than anything.

Hannibal knows he might just be being overly optimistic, but almost eight days of sleeping and relaxing seems to be doing his runaway lover the world of good, and he dares to hope that this might be all he needs. Rest and lots of tender loving care. Dares to forget that the C word was ever mentioned.

BA and Murdock have, reluctantly, gone on to Chicago as they’d always planned, meeting up with Mama B for a holiday of their own. They hadn’t seen Face before they left but they had spoken to him, long phone calls which left Face in tears, curled up in Hannibal’s arms and apologising repeatedly. They haven’t told the other half of the team about Face’s doctors, the specialists or the tests – Face wants to wait until they have all the results, one more week, before worrying his friends like that. It makes Hannibal a little uncomfortable, but he can understand his lover’s reasoning and has to honour his wishes.

Face is asleep right now, Hannibal knows, having looked in on him just a few minutes ago. His lover had been absolutely adorable, curled up in a tight ball beneath the sheets, looking for all the world like a little boy. It gives Hannibal some time and space to sit and think – he’s been with Face practically every minute of every day, holding him or talking to him, so a moment alone is good. Replaying their conversations, or arguments, in his head.

* * *

The morning after he’d found his runaway lover in that tiny motel room, they’d eaten breakfast in a half-decent diner nearby, planning to just talk calmly, if they could. They’d both slept the whole night through, not surprising given Face’s difficult day and Hannibal’s sleepless night. Hannibal had woken briefly in the early hours, just long enough to pull a blanket over them both, and Face had looked a lot better for the rest, not limping so much. He’d been honest with Hannibal, admitting he was still sore – the doctors said it would be painful for a couple of days – but they’d both been more relaxed and ready to try to put the pieces back together.

Hannibal had attacked his full cooked breakfast with relish, having remembered he’d skipped dinner the previous night, while Face had a simple plate of eggs and toast. Hannibal had watched as his lover clearly made an effort to eat, but ended up pushing his food around his plate, making a mess of it while he tried to find the words to explain why he’d run from the wedding.

“I don’t think it was about you,” Face had said slowly, softly. “I wasn’t thinking about you when I ran, as terrible as that sounds. I was thinking about me, worrying about what was happening. At least I ran towards the doctors, I guess, rather than away from everything.” He’d laughed, roughly, shaking his head. “How selfish am I, right?”

Hannibal had squeezed his lover’s hand briefly before returning to his food. It was easier to talk like this, perhaps, easier to be honest. “It’s a better reason than ‘I’m just a screw-up, boss’ at least. I can understand you being selfish in that situation, I think, but it was about both of us – still is about both of us – as much as you’re the one who isn’t well.”

A long pause. Face pushed his eggs from one side of the plate to the other, before he whispered, “My first instinct is still to run, to think no one will want me if I’m not perfect.”

And that was a huge admission, Hannibal knew, as much as it wasn’t really a surprise. “I don’t know what else I can do to prove to you that I want you, I will always want you – ”

“There’s nothing you can do, John, you’ve done everything and then some. It’s a cliché, but it’s not you, it’s me. I don’t doubt that you love me, and I don’t doubt for a second that you would want to stay with me if I am seriously ill.” Face had immediately seemed to doubt his own words though, suddenly looking very worried. “I mean, you do want to, right?”

“Of course I do.” Hannibal had to remind himself they were in public – no shouting, no matter how much he wanted to tell his lover just how crazy he was being.

Face had nodded. “Then, it really is just me. A lifetime spent running at the first sign of trouble, until I fell in love with you – it’s been a hard habit to break. But I have, I think, for the most part. I mean, we talk now, don’t we, when things go wrong? When I screw up, or when you aren’t happy?”

“That’s been a hard habit for me to get used to, as well,” Hannibal admits. “I’ve never been good at talking about my feelings. We’re big, tough army men, remember?” That gets a smile out of his lover. “We aren’t trained to talk about emotions. I’m happier making little gestures rather than big sweeping declarations of love. That’s why this wedding was such a big deal. And why it hurt so much that you walked out on me, whatever the reasons.”

And his lover’s face had fallen again, knife and fork dropped and plate pushed away.

* * *

Now, sitting on that porch swing, Hannibal pulls out a cigar and takes his time lighting it. They’ve talked themselves around in circles, time and again, about the reasons Face ran rather than talking. He knows how far his boy has come since they first met, knows that broken childhood has left him damaged and with so many issues. He thinks that maybe, if something similar happened again, heaven forbid, Face would do things differently. 

“Hey, handsome.” His lover’s gentle voice tugs Hannibal from his thoughts, and he turns a little as Face comes out onto the porch.

“Hey yourself. I thought you were sleeping.” It’s hot out here but not too hot, a rare breeze blowing across the dry land their safe house sits in. Face hasn’t bothered dressing after his nap except to throw a baggy t shirt over his boxer shorts, and he’s all mussed hair and warm body as he sits next to Hannibal on the swing.

“I was,” Face says as Hannibal slings a careful arm around his shoulders to tug him closer, guiding his boy’s head down onto his own shoulder. “Missed you.”

Hannibal chuckles at that. “Missed you too, sweetheart.” Despite all the hurt and the worry, this is where he needs his man. By his side and in his arms.

They sit in silence for a while, Hannibal rocking the swing gently, both staring out towards the horizon. For a time, he thinks Face has fallen asleep once more, but then his boy asks softly, “What’re you thinking?”

* * *

Another argument. One of many. Face has tried time and time again to explain why he ran, and Hannibal is starting to understand, a little. Instinct, one Hannibal knows Face has fought to overcome in the past. Instinct taking over.

But that doesn’t mean Hannibal hasn’t been hurt by it all. And if Face is trying to overcome his instinct to run, then Hannibal has to keep trying to explain how he’s been hurt rather than being the strong silent one, as his own instincts tell him to do. In this situation, of course, that results in a whole lot of shouting.

“What did you think I’d be feeling?” Hannibal had given in to the urge to yell, pacing the room while Face stood back against the wall. “What did you expect me to feel when you ran away on the eve of our wedding?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Face whispered, looking pale and nervous. “I tried to tell you, I wasn’t thinking about you. I wasn’t thinking at all.”

“I thought the worst. I thought something terrible had happened to you. Imagined you in a car accident when you didn’t call me that night. Imagined you dead or dying.” Memories of that awful night spent waiting for his lover to call, wondering what had happened, what he had done wrong, made Hannibal shiver. "I imagined you being held at gunpoint, forced to leave me.”

Face was so very still. “I didn’t even think about – ”

“You made me doubt everything I thought I knew about us. I thought I had done something terribly wrong, said something stupid, hurt you or scared you. Nearly twenty years we’ve been together, and I’m not crazy enough to think I know everything about you – I know there are some things you’ll never tell me, and I can live with that.” He’d made that decision long ago, to take whatever Face trusted him with and keep it safe, love him regardless. “But I thought I knew you well enough – then you just took off, leaving that godawful note.”

“You do know everything.” Hannibal must have looked completely unconvinced, because Face said it again, his own voice louder then, stronger. “You do know everything. You’re the only person who does, the only one I’ve ever trusted that much. The abuse, the nightmares, all my fears – you know me. And I’m so sorry I made you doubt all that, made you doubt your trust in me. I value that more than almost anything.”

Taking a deep breath, Hannibal deliberately tried to lower his voice a fraction. “I still do trust you, kid. I know now why you ran, and that makes it a little easier. But you really hurt me, and I still don’t think you understand just how much.”

“I can imagine how much it would hurt me, if you left me like I left you.” Tears in Face’s eyes now, but he holds his ground. “There is nothing I can say to make it hurt less, nothing I can do to apologise enough.”

“No. There isn’t.”

“So, where do we go from here?” Face looked terrified, swallowing hard, and despite all his hurt, Hannibal crossed the room in two long strides and swept his lover into his arms.

“We keep working on it, Temp,” he told him firmly. “We’ve been working on it for twenty years nearly, and we’ve got the rest of our lives to get it right.”

“You mean… You still want me, still want to marry me?”

“Of course I do. I love you.”

A whisper, so soft Hannibal could hardly hear it. “Even if I’m really ill?”

“Of course,” he repeated just as softly. And he really meant it.

* * *

Thinking of this long shadow cast over their time together, the shadow of his lover’s test results, Hannibal pulls Face even closer against his side. His boy is taking supplements rather than prescription medications at this point, the only exception being strong iron tablets to help his body fight the anaemia, and Hannibal has been carefully keeping track of everything Face is eating, trying to help as much as he can.

A little internet research had let him to lists of suggested meals and diets, and they’ve been sticking to them closely. It’s probably been the healthiest food either of them has eaten since they’ve been on the run, mostly red meat and vegetables, and Hannibal is secretly enjoying taking the time to cook fresh every day while Face takes another nap.

It really is easy to believe Face is just in recovery from a nasty virus, one that has knocked him completely for six. It really is easy to forget what the doctors are looking for.

It seems Face’s thoughts have turned the same way, and he shifts slightly in Hannibal’s arms, breath warm against his neck. “Six days, until I find out,” he says softly, bright blue eyes still trained on the horizon.

Hannibal kisses his forehead very gently. “Don’t think about it, sweetheart,” he tells Face firmly. “We can’t change anything. You’re supposed to be resting and relaxing, not worrying.”

“Can’t help it.” Face shrugs in his arms. “We have to make plans, just in case…”

They’ve had this argument, too, many times. Now, just as before, Hannibal finds the best way to stop Face fretting is to pull him up and around, claiming those perfect lips with his own. But, even as his lover melts into his embrace, arms coming up and around his neck, Hannibal remembers his precious boy’s previous words, and tries to fight down his own worry.

* * *

“If it is what they think it might be,” Face started, leaning all his weight into keeping Hannibal against the wall when he tried to move away. Neither of them have used ‘The L Word’ since that first conversation, as if, by not mentioning it, they can ward it off. They don’t use ‘The C Word’ either, cancer – neither of them are superstitious by nature, but they simply won’t say it out loud. “If it is that, then we need to decide what we’re going to do. You cannot stay with me if I have to have long-term treatment.” That’s yet another word they don’t use – ‘treatment’ instead of chemotherapy. 

“You’re thinking too far ahead. You said it yourself, they think it’s probably a virus.” Hannibal had lost count of the number of times they’ve both said that, trying to convince themselves of the truth of it. “But they’ve got to be thorough. Don’t panic until we know the test results.”

Face shook his head. “Thinking too far ahead? That’s unbelievable coming from you. ‘Three steps ahead, that’s a plan’, right, Boss? You taught me to plan ahead, then Pike taught me to plan for the worst case scenario.”

“Pike?” That knocked Hannibal off balance a little, and he frowned hard. “Kid, what – ?”

“Rocket launcher, remember? I never saw it coming. Worst case scenario.”

“But that still doesn’t mean…”

“Yes, it does.” Face slammed one hand against the wall, near to Hannibal’s shoulder. “I’ve got good cover with both doctors and their offices, but it’ll be hard to stay under the Military’s radar if I’m in hospital for long periods of time. I can’t worry about you being there, being caught, being dragged back to prison because of me.”

“I won’t be.” Finding the strength to move, Hannibal rested his own hands gently on Face’s slender hips, feeling too much bone where there should be more flesh and muscle. “We’ve gotten good at this, at hiding in plain sight. You know this.”

“I won’t risk it. If I get caught, fair enough; they’ll still treat me, then I know you can break me out of whatever maximum security hell-hole they throw me into when I’m better. But I can’t watch you get arrested, Hannibal. Don’t ask me to do that.”

* * *

Hannibal has been on his guard for Face trying to push him away, expecting his lover to start pulling away to try and force him to leave. At the very least, he’s expected Face to throw a tantrum or two, when he realises he isn’t getting his own way. But this time, whatever the reason, Face is trying to talk him around, trying to be honest. Perhaps it’s a sign of how ill he is really feeling, but Hannibal gets the distinct impression that Face isn’t even convincing himself with his arguments, not any more.

None of their arguments have reached proper conclusions, and Hannibal doesn’t honestly know that they will. They’ll never agree on everything, but they’ll find a way to make it all work, he’s sure of that. For right now, at least until Face gets his test results back, it’s all largely hypothetical anyway.

Seeing how much confidence Face has in him is staggering – for the first time, Hannibal really believes that his boy does trust in their love, trusts that Hannibal would stay with him through good times or bad. His reasons for running and his reasons for wanting Hannibal to leave are both equally surprising, yet both equally Face, always wanting to protect his lover and his team.

But Hannibal has absolutely no intention of leaving Face, even if this does turn out to be worst case scenario. They’ll beat this thing together, whatever it turns out to be. 

And as he sits there now, Face held tightly in his arms, kissing him senseless, he really, genuinely does believe that his lover is doing better today than he was a week ago. More energy, more colour in his cheeks. It’s just a virus. It has to be just a virus.

They haven’t talked about the true worst case scenario, if it is the big C and the doctors can’t cure Face, and Hannibal’s blood runs cold at the very thought of losing his boy forever. It simply isn’t possible, and his mind just shuts down at the idea of it. They don’t talk about it, they can’t, not until those test results are in, and they are both practical enough to focus on what they can – for Face, this determination to convince Hannibal that he shouldn’t stay, and for both of them, their aborted wedding.

They’ve not talked about setting a new date, though both of them have taken it for granted that they will talk about it properly after they know the state of Face’s health. Hannibal has made it clear he still wants to marry his darling boy, and a teary and happy Face accepted his proposal all over again. They’ll work through it all together – there’s no rush, after all, unless… No, there’s no rush.

They’re still kissing, wonderfully, miraculously. Face is practically in Hannibal’s lap now, their arms wrapped tightly around each other, kissing slowly and softly, lovingly. Face is making the most beautiful little noises, sighs and mewls of contentment, and Hannibal could happily spend hours, days, weeks here with his boy in his arms. 

The rest of the world can go hang for all he cares right now. For the next six days, at least, until he has to take Face back to St Barnabas’ and Doctor Hoffman. Until the real world kicks back in. Until then, and even after, Face is all that matters.

* * * * *

The bright mid-morning sunshine makes Face squint a little, and he reaches one hand up to shield his eyes as he steps out from the medical centre into the huge car park. It takes him a long moment to get his bearings, and he struggles to remember again all the reasons he’d told Hannibal not to come in with him, to wait in the car.

He knows that must have hurt his lover terribly, to agree to that, but until they know what they are dealing with – what Face is dealing with – he’d truly thought it was best to go in for his appointment alone, to see Doctor Hoffman alone. The fake ID he was using had no next of kin listed, no emergency contact, and a sudden ‘friend’ being with him might’ve raised alarm bells.

Face knows all that, remembers the argument he’d barely won, Hannibal finally agreeing to wait outside but promising to kick the door down and storm in if Face was in there for longer than an hour. It’s been nearly that long, and a small part of him expects to see his lover’s tall, imposing figure charging across the car park towards him.

And he wishes Hannibal was right there, wishes he’d let him come in with him, to hold his hand tight as the doctor went through all his test results. Walking through the rows of cars – they’d parked in the back corner, out of the way, near the little grassed area which counts as a garden of sorts for the centre – walking alone now, it seems hours, days since he’s seen Hannibal, felt his arms tight around him, keeping all the fear and worry at bay, telling Face how much he loves him. With the doctor’s words ringing in his ears, with a list of new appointments and check-ups and a bag full of prescriptions, Face just needs Hannibal to be there, right now.

His heart is racing, and his emotions are threatening to overpower him, right here in the middle of a car park, and where the fuck did they park the car, and then – There he is, Hannibal, wonderful strong Hannibal, standing close to their car, by the entrance to that little garden. Arms crossed, no cigar in sight, surprisingly; the colonel is clearly holding himself back, waiting for Face to reach him, not wanting to make a scene.

Screw that, Face thinks, taking the last few metres at a run and practically launching himself into his lover’s strong arms. The tears are already streaming down his face as he throws his arms around Hannibal’s back, crushing the papers and the bag and not even caring, and then he’s sobbing, loud and unashamed, as everything suddenly crashes over him in a wave.

He’s vaguely aware of being moved, of Hannibal walking them away from the car into the garden, under the shade of a tree with low hanging branches. The whole time, those arms don’t loosen their grip, one around his waist, one around his shoulders, holding him up and keeping him steady while his sobs threaten to shake him apart.

With his face buried against Hannibal’s chest, his tears soaking his lover’s shirt, it takes Face a while to recognise the kisses being pressed against his head, the words Hannibal is whispering to him.

“My precious boy... Darling boy… I’ll get you through this, I promise, you’ll be okay…” 

And Face wants to talk back, needs to explain to Hannibal, but those sobs are still choking him and, as much as he hates himself for it, all he can do right now is cling and cry.

Hannibal is still talking, his words coming through louder as Face starts to calm. “We’ll find you the best doctors, the best treatments… I’ll be right by your side the whole time, sweetheart… Love you so much, never going to lose you…”

And finally, finally, Face manages to catch his breath a little, manages to lift his head away from his lover’s strong chest, manages to gasp, “John, no…”

“You won’t get me to leave you, Temp,” Hannibal says, and Face can hear the tears in his lover’s voice as well. “I’ll never leave you.”

“No, baby…” He pushes back a fraction, far enough to look Hannibal in the eye through the tears still blinding him. Tries to smile, manages it. “It’s good news, John. Good news. It’s not - ”

And suddenly Hannibal’s arms are ten times tighter around him, one big hand pulling Face’s head back down to his lover’s chest. “Oh, thank the lord!” Hannibal gasps. “They’re sure?”

“Yes,” he whispers, held so tight he can’t even nod. “My white blood cell count was back up a bit, the iron pills are doing their thing, and the bone marrow tests were all clear.”

“Virus?”

“Virus.” And suddenly Face finds himself supporting his lover’s weight as Hannibal’s legs seem to give out. His own don’t really want to work so well right now either, and together they sink to the grass, a tangle of shaking limbs, and the tears overwhelm him again.

He loses track of how long they sit there, wrapped together under a tree. He knows Hannibal is crying as well, and how crazy is this, two Rangers sobbing because they got good news for once. Face didn’t really take in half of what Doctor Hoffman had said, not after he’d heard those wonderful words – ‘it’s not cancer’ – but there will be time later to explain it all to his lover, the follow-up appointments for his anaemia, more blood tests in a few weeks, a check-up in six months just to make certain he’s doing fine.

Face is vaguely aware of the moment when Hannibal gets himself back under control, when the arms locked tight around him start to ease a little, shifting to cradle him gently. One big hand starts combing through his hair while the other rubs soothing circles over his back, all Face’s weight in Hannibal’s lap as he continues to cry, hiccupping a little now as he tries to settle down.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Hannibal murmurs over and over again. “You’re okay. Let it all out.”

“John…” He tries to speak, but it comes out in a strangled gasp.

“Ssh, Temp. I’ve got you.” Hannibal is rocking him gently now, and Face really hopes there is no one else in this little garden right now. So much for not making a scene. “It’s just the relief, kid, after all the stress and worry.”

And that makes sense, at least. That makes it better, in Face’s mind; that means he’s not just sobbing like a little girl for the sheer hell of it. And everything he’s been through, all the worry, feeling so ill, trying not to think about what they would do if the worst did happen, trying to convince Hannibal to leave him, running from him on the eve of their wedding… Everything hits him again, and he doesn’t think he could stop crying now even if the whole Army suddenly turned up to arrest them both.

Hannibal keeps whispering little words of comfort in Face’s ear, peppering his head with gentle kisses, stroking his back and supporting his head, and eventually his tears begin to dry up. But he makes no move to disentangle himself from that wonderful embrace, instead pressing his body even closer. “I can’t believe I could have lost this,” he manages to whisper.

“But you didn’t,” Hannibal whispers back. “You’ll never lose me. Ever.”

But he needs to say this, feels it now more strongly than he has these last two weeks. “I ran when I should’ve talked to you, baby, and I’m so, so sorry. I could’ve lost this, could’ve really pushed you away forever.”

“You may have run away, but I ran after you. And I always will.” The strength and certainty in Hannibal’s words gives Face the strength he needs to lift himself up, reaching up as Hannibal leans down, and their lips meet in a clash of tongues and teeth. A kiss of passion and gratitude that they are both here, together, alive. A kiss that tastes of salty tears, and somewhere in the back of his mind Face realises Hannibal has been crying silently the whole time. But beneath the salt is that distinctive tang of cigar smoke and the uniqueness that is Hannibal Smith, and Face can’t get enough of that. Will never be able to get enough of this man.

But this kiss can only lead to one thing, and that can’t happen under a tree in the garden of a medical centre in the late morning sunshine, no matter how they both might want it. Face pulls back first, Hannibal growling a little as their kiss breaks apart, and together they stumble to their feet.

“Get me to a bed,” Face whispers in his lover’s ear, breathing hard, still clutching all his prescriptions and papers, though they are crumpled beyond belief. ”Right now.” 

* * * * *

Face is all over him again the instant they fall through the motel room door, and Hannibal barely manages to kick the door shut before his lover is tugging him towards the bed, papers and pills tossed to the side, shoes kicked off, buttons flying as normally nimble fingers tear at his shirt. The whole time, Face is kissing him with a ferocity Hannibal has rarely felt directed at him, a burning passion born out of sheer relief, and he finds himself more than content to let his boy take whatever he needs, his own relief burning just as deeply and strongly. Face will be fine, he’s sure of that, and it’s the last coherent thought he has for some time as his lover’s talented hands find his straining erection through the crotch of his jeans and squeeze tight.

“Off,” he manages to spit out, breaking them apart just long enough to get those damn jeans down and away, tearing his boxers and socks off in the same motion, as Face does exactly the same with his own clothes. Only seconds pass before he has his arms full of his now blessedly naked lover, Face reclaiming his mouth before he can speak another word, bare skin blazing against his own as they resume their staggered progress towards the bed.

Hannibal’s back hits the mattress as Face lands above him on all fours, his lover moving quickly to lick and suck at his neck, biting hard over his pulse point for just a moment, before those wonderful lips move further down to close around his left nipple, and Hannibal is helpless to stop his body bucking clean off the bed as teeth nip at the tender flesh, sending lighting straight to his groin.

“Oh, Face!” His hands fly to the kid’s shoulders, trying to steady him and slow him a fraction, but he makes no move to really pull his lover off. “Easy, Face, there’s no – oh! – no rush…” 

Lips pull up and off, and Hannibal groans involuntarily at the loss of contact before Face practically crawls back up his body, stretching out full length on top of him as they meet in another burning kiss. “Need you, Boss,” Face breathes, a note of desperation in his voice before he dives back into the kiss, tongue forcing its way inside Hannibal’s mouth and tangling with his own. Losing himself in the sensations, Hannibal can feel every inch of his darling boy pressed against him, can feel Face’s throbbing erection caught between their equally firm stomachs, his own hard cock pressed against his lover’s thigh, so close to where he needs to be.

They’ve made love often these last two weeks, alone together and waiting for this moment, but it’s always been slow and tender, two men reaffirming their love and comforting each other. No need or desire for that right now, on either side, and Hannibal watches in awestruck wonder as Face rises up above him on his knees, a glorious sight even in this shabby motel room, even still clearly too thin, ribs visible as he reaches back, seizing Hannibal’s cock in a firm hand and lining himself up – 

“Wait, kid!” Something finally snaps Hannibal back into the moment, and he grabs Face by the hips before his lover can just sink down onto him. “Not like this, not dry. I won’t hurt you.”

“No, you won’t.” Face shifts awkwardly, pupils blown fully to black with arousal. He squeezes Hannibal’s cock once, and stars spark behind his eyes as Face begs, “Need this, John. Need to feel you.”

“Won’t hurt you, ever.” Keeping hold of Face, Hannibal manages to sit up and feels his cock nestle snugly between two firm cheeks as his lover lets go and settles into his lap, knees either side of Hannibal’s own hips. “Hang on to me.”

Face wraps his arms tight around Hannibal’s shoulders, going back to sucking at his neck – he’s going to have so many love-bites after this, he can tell – while Hannibal wraps one arm around his boy’s waist and leans them both sideways on the bed until he manages to just grab his jeans from the floor. Every muscle in his body screams in protest at the move as he rolls them back upright, the friction on his aching erection almost pushing him clean over the edge before he’s even inside his lover, but it’s all worth it when his trembling fingers find his prize.

“Up, sweetheart.” And Face, miraculously, obeys, rising up on his knees above Hannibal, who goes to work kissing and biting the toned chest in front of him even as he manages to tear open the sachet of lube, quickly coating his fingers and, keeping one arm around Face’s waist, slides two fingers straight into his boy’s eager hole, feeling the tight muscle give immediately as Face shouts loud into the room. “Good boy,” he tells him, loving the play of muscles around his fingers. “My precious boy.”

“John…” Face is writhing on his hand as Hannibal quickly scissors and stretches him open, sliding in a third finger and savouring the sweeter cry that gets him as he nails his lover’s prostate. But he knows, deep down, that Face wants the burn, wants to feel him, and soon enough he hears a desperate, “Now, please, John, now…”

“Whatever you need, baby boy,” he growls, carefully sliding his fingers out and coating his erection with the remaining lube. “I’m all yours, Temp, always yours.”

Without another word, Face braces his hands on Hannibal’s shoulders and, lining himself up carefully, sinks straight down until his ass is nestled in his lover’s lap. It is Hannibal’s shout that fills the room this time as he finds himself completely buried in his boy’s burning hot, silky smooth channel, the tightness and the heat threatening to overwhelm him too soon as Face holds still, locking their gazes together for a moment before deliberately leaning in to kiss him again, slower this time. Hannibal settles his hands around Face’s hips and holds tight as the kiss deepens naturally, relishing this closeness, so incredibly grateful that his lover is going to be okay.

It is Face now who growls into the kiss, and Hannibal never gets tired of watching the look in his lover’s eyes when he gets like this. So often Face is content to let Hannibal set the pace when they make love, which isn’t to say he is at all passive, quite the contrary – Face is the most responsive and intuitive lover Hannibal has ever known, but he doesn’t often get like this, so controlling and dominant, and he knows all he can do is hold on and enjoy the ride.

And it will be one hell of a ride by the looks of things, as Face tightens the grip he holds on Hannibal’s shoulders, flexing his hips and tensing his inner muscles, wringing a cry from Hannibal’s lips as he rises up on his knees, just an inch or two, before dropping straight back down. Again he rises, falls, rises again, and Hannibal drinks in the beautiful sight of his Face, skin flushed and damp with sweat, head thrown back, every muscle and tendon in his neck standing out. 

Those hands on his shoulders push now, hard, and Hannibal lets his body plummet back onto the bed, Face falling with him, and the new angle sends even more sparks of pleasure thrumming through his body as his lover starts to rise and fall rapidly now. No more words between them, just Face’s little grunts and gasps, matched by Hannibal’s own shouts and cries as his hips start rising to meet his lover’s body, driving himself into that incredible body as deeply as he can possibly get, as they quickly build a fast rhythm between them. Face’s erection bobs freely, painting Hannibal’s stomach with pre-come as their matching pleasures spike higher and higher.

Face’s fingers are digging into his shoulders so hard they are bound to leave bruises, but Hannibal’s own grip on his boy is gentle as he squeezes slender hipbones, strokes up tense abdominals, brushes over too-obvious ribs before tweaking first one nipple, then the other, all the time snapping his hips and driving himself as deep as he can into his lover’s body.

“Oh, John, gonna…” Face suddenly shifts again, leaning back and bracing his hands on Hannibal’s burning thighs as his movements stutter a fraction, starting to lose the rhythm they’ve built, and Hannibal knows he isn’t far behind his lover.

“Let it go, sweetheart,” he gasps, begging almost, as he wraps one hand tightly around Face’s cock, dropping the other back to his lover’s hipbone in support, right over the fading bruise where he was punctured by the doctor. “Come for me, Temp.”

And Face is gone, gorgeous body locking up and slamming down on Hannibal’s cock as he spills himself in orgasm, all over his lover’s grasping hand. Hannibal manages to thrust up once, twice more before those wonderful fluttering muscles clenching around his cock send him flying high himself, and he shoots his seed right up inside his boy, laying claim to him all over again as the world fades to near black and his shuddering body falls back on to the bed.

In the aftermath, they are still for a long moment, both breathing hard, and Hannibal manages to peel his eyes open to see Face still posed above him, head thrown back and slender chest heaving as he fights to get his breath back. He can just see the wide smile splitting his lover’s face, can feel the little aftershocks chasing through Face just as they are chasing through his own body, and all too soon he feels himself slip out of his boy as his spent cock softens.

But Face stays still above him, even though Hannibal knows from experience how his thigh muscles must be burning after the exertion. “Temp, sweetheart…” he starts, hearing how his voice is a little hoarse – the things this incredible man does to him. “You okay, love?”

He strokes careful hands over Face’s stomach, around to his lower back, down to those firm thighs, everywhere he can reach without sitting up and shifting them both. And he can see the moment Face swallows hard, head tilting forward again and bright blue eyes finding Hannibal’s in the dim light of the room. Eyes which are swimming in tears again, those powerful emotions threatening to take over once more, and Hannibal can’t have that. No more tears for his precious man today, nor ever again if he has anything to say about it. 

Slipping hands under Face’s toned ass, he lifts and turns, guiding the younger man down onto the bed next to him, and immediately Face shifts to wrap himself around Hannibal’s body, just as he always does when he is at his most needy. Curly head settles in the crook of Hannibal’s shoulder, one arm wraps around his chest, legs tangle together, and Hannibal does what he always does, what he needs as much as Face needs, sliding an arm tightly around his boy and pulling him as close as they can possibly be. They are both sticky, both in need of a shower or, at the very least, a washcloth, but that can wait.

“I love you so much,” Face breathes against his shoulder, the barest hint of a sob in his voice, warm lips pressing a kiss into his muscles, and Hannibal feels his heart swell with love and wonder.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he tells his boy. “You’re safe, and I love you too. You’re going to be alright now. We’ll get you better, and then we’ll get married. If you still want me.”

An actual sob now, followed by a choked laugh, and Hannibal smiles into the darkness as Face replies, “Always, John. Assuming you still want me?”

“Always,” he echoes, kissing those messy curls as he feels his shattered body starting to crave sleep, feeling Face grow heavier in his arms as his lover’s lingering weakness and exhaustion hits him. “Though this time I’m not going to leave your side until we say ‘I do’.”

“But it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding…” comes the sleepy murmur, and Hannibal can’t resist, before the darkness tugs him under.

“So that means you’ll be the one wearing the dress?”

And his lover’s soft laughter sends him to sleep with a smile on his face.

* * * * *

It’s been a long, difficult road to get back here, Hannibal reflects, standing where he last stood three months ago, looking out at the pristine beach of the resort Face found for their wedding. Then, as now, his biggest worry had been finding the right words for his vows. But back then, he hadn’t realised his lover was sick, was about to run from him. 

It’s taking everything Hannibal has not to go find Face, stay close by his side, refuse to let him out of his sight. But his lover is safe and well, he knows, and he truly does believe that Face won’t run this time, or ever again, even if something terrible does happen. Heaven forbid.

And he really does have to write those vows. He’s been putting it off long enough.

The last three months have been so difficult, not only dealing with Face’s recovery but dealing with the whole team as Murdock and BA met back up with them two days after Face had gotten his good news. They’d spoken often on the phone during those two weeks apart, but Hannibal had respected Face’s wishes and not told the other half of the team about the doctor’s fears and all the tests. Murdock and BA knew only that Face wasn’t feeling too well, and had panicked the night before he was due to marry Hannibal. 

Even now, they didn’t know the true extent of the health scare Face had been through. Murdock had lost his mother to cancer when he was just a little boy, and Hannibal had agreed with Face that the pilot’s reaction would be too unpredictable if he knew the truth. BA, similarly, had lost relatives to the terrible disease over the years – a cousin of his had died only last year from breast cancer, and the big guy had been devastated that he couldn’t find a way to attend her funeral – so Hannibal had sat by Face’s side as his lover told their two friends an abridged version of the truth. That he’d been summoned to see a specialist for tests, and not even thought of talking to Hannibal before he’d run from the wedding.

Murdock had seemed to accept his best friend’s story with no questions asked, hugging Face tightly and telling him they’d all do whatever it took to get him back on his feet properly, demanding that Hannibal show him all the food plans and diets they’d started to follow to get Face over his anaemia. But Hannibal wasn’t fooled – the captain was far more observant than he ever let on, and he suspected Murdock might have some idea how serious things could have been. Ever practical, their crazy teammate seemed to recognise that whatever it was, it was over and done with, so there was no point dwelling on it now. A sentiment Hannibal tried to embrace wholeheartedly himself.

BA, on the other hand, had a glint of suspicion in his dark eyes, mixed with deep concern as he listened to Face talk, watching the way Hannibal was staying so close to his side. When Face had finished talking, after Murdock had hugged him and bounded away, the quiet man of the group had asked softly, “You really gonna be okay? You hurtin’, brother?”

And Face had teared up again, just a little, as he nodded in response to the first question, holding tight to Hannibal’s hand as he replied, “Not hurting, Bosco, I promise. Just really tired.”

For the next few weeks, the four of them stayed together and tried to find some peace and quiet, though ‘quiet’ was relative when Murdock became hyper or BA decided to start taking apart another motor vehicle in the driveway. They found yet another secluded safe house, and Face was able to continue to rest and recuperate, though as the weeks passed and he started to feel better, it was harder to keep him still.

The doctors had said that Face needed to rest up completely, to give his body time to fight off whatever virus was attacking his system, and to give the medication time to work. A first follow-up appointment two weeks after had shown the anaemia was still the main cause of Face’s exhaustion, and a combination of strong iron supplements and the right diet, along with lots of sleep, would help him get back on his feet. But of course, Face wasn’t so willing to just sit still and relax once he started to feel a little more alert.

Sometimes Hannibal despaired of ever getting Face to stay in bed, especially with Murdock and BA around. As much as he tried to convince his lover to take things easy, Face would insist that he could still do some things, that he was feeling better than he had a few weeks back, and off he would go to play games with Murdock or help out BA in the garage. It wasn’t as if they were dealing with an obvious injury, bruises that could be seen to fade or scars that were healing up – all Hannibal had to go on was his lover’s word for how he was feeling, and his own gut instincts. It was a tricky balance, one he knew Face was struggling with too, and he could only sympathise with his stubborn lover – they were neither of them good patients, always too quick to want to be active again after an illness or injury.

It didn’t help that the team didn’t have the resources to stay on down-time for long. They had been working steadily over the previous months, usually with jobs lined up in advance, but sadly not all the jobs paid well or even paid them at all, and their emergency cash supplies were low. Face had been all for getting back to work, but Hannibal knew his lover well enough not to let him push himself too soon, finding them some low-key work, surveillance and monitoring, where Face could be safely involved by sitting and staring at a computer screen all day.

The next job was bigger, and Face argued that it had been nearly six weeks of him sitting still, that he had most of his strength back now, and that they needed him on the ground for this one. Hannibal swallowed back his protests, needing to trust Face though vowing to keep an eye on him, and the job had gone well, one violent street gang rounded up and behind bars with few injuries to anyone, and a happy group of tenants who paid the team well with bundles of cash.

But Face crashed once again after the job, virtually unable to leave his bed for another week, and Hannibal had been beside himself with worry once more, at the same time lecturing his lover about pushing himself too hard too soon. Murdock and BA had hovered, doing what they could to help and both clearly worried sick as well. The pilot had thrown himself into cooking, clearly noticing that the little weight Face had managed to put back on was starting to fall off again, while BA had visibly struggled to know what to do with himself, burying his concern by delivering lectures to Face as well, when Hannibal had finished with him. 

Once Face hauled himself back onto his feet, Hannibal had to smile through his worry as both their teammates found new ways to keep Face sitting still. Murdock would curl up practically in Face’s lap while they watched TV or played video games, pinning his best friend to the sofa, while BA took a far more direct approach, simply ordering Face to go to bed when he started to look tired. Face, surprisingly, obeyed his friend nine times out of ten, and usually Hannibal would have teased his lover for following orders from a subordinate. 

But he knew the three younger men were closer than any brothers, and BA was undeniably the protective ‘big brother’ of the group, Face responding to that side of his friend almost instinctively after so many years together. One time, Hannibal actually found BA and Face napping together on the big bed, BA lying behind his brother with one arm loosely around Face’s still-too-skinny waist. No jealousy at all in Hannibal’s heart at the sight; he’d simply smiled then snapped a quick picture on his phone before leaving them to their rest.

As the weeks went by, there were further blood tests for Face, and each set of results came back more positive than the previous ones. He watched as his lover started working out again, slowly, building up his strength and endurance by lifting weights with BA and jogging with Murdock. The team went out for further jobs, Hannibal managing to keep them local so Face was near his doctor, and low-key so Face could be involved without setting his recovery back again, as much as his lover grumbled the whole time about not being allowed to join in fully. 

And finally, almost three months after Hannibal had tracked his runaway lover down to a miserable little motel room on the day they should have exchanged rings, Face was back. Almost as if someone had flipped a switch somewhere, Hannibal could tell that his lover wasn’t faking it, wasn’t claiming to be feeling fine while still being terribly tired. Face was actually himself again, finally off the last of the iron pills and signed off from the doctor with final check-up due in three months’ time. He still hadn’t quite managed to put back on those last few pounds he’d lost during the worst of his weakness, mostly muscle mass lost during the time he’d not had the energy for working out, but he was back to normal, and Hannibal’s heart had been light for the first time in months.

Now, as promised, they were taking another shot at getting married. Nothing they’d been through had changed Hannibal’s mind, nor Face’s – they were meant to be together, and the desire to make those vows and exchange rings had only grown stronger during these last three months. Face has apologised time and time again for running the first time they tried this, but Hannibal stops him now before they can get into it all over again. It happened and it’s over, he tells his lover. Just don’t do it again.

Jacques, the host who had comforted Hannibal that dark morning so long ago, had spent almost two hours talking to Hannibal and Face when they had arrived back at the resort this morning. Now, as before, he’d made sure they understood their ceremony wouldn’t be legal and binding, but this time, he had asked them both to be sure this is what they truly wanted. That it wasn’t to be taken lightly, the promise of commitment to each other, and that they should be certain, deep down in their hearts.

Face had been the one to tell the old man everything that had happened, why he’d run away before their last ceremony, and Hannibal had only been able to watch as the tears fell once more from his lover’s eyes. Face has cried often these last few months – they’ve never been emotional men, either of them, but the rollercoaster of emotions Face has experienced with his health still sends him reeling at times, not to mention the long talks he and Hannibal have had about their relationship and the reasons Face had run. 

When all was said and done, Jacques had hugged them both once more, saying he was delighted to see them back, and honoured to be performing their ceremony. It heartens Hannibal to see how seriously the host takes his job, even knowing their wedding won’t be, can’t be, legal. It makes this feel real – that he really is, finally, about to marry the love of his life.

If only he can come up with the right vows.

Hannibal checks his watch, then immediately feels his heart start to race. He’s almost out of time – another five minutes, maybe, before BA will be coming to find him. He’s already in his suit, that fine dark blue his precious Face had spent so long picking out for them, and he can’t wait to see how handsome his lover looks dressed in his own, matching suit. The colour will make his boy’s bright blue eyes stand out even more, he just knows, and he marvels again at just how much he loves his Templeton. And now he can finally show the whole world.

Swallowing hard, he blinks back the sudden tears that fill his eyes. Tears of joy and happiness, he knows, after everything they’ve been through to get to this moment. Hannibal wishes he knew the right words to say, but he comes to the same conclusion he did before – the words will come when he’s standing in front of his lover, his soon-to-be husband, and he has to trust that they will be good enough. Has to trust Face will know they come from his heart. After all, they aren’t romantic men, neither of them given to grand sweeping gestures and flowery statements of love. 

“Hannibal?” Just as before, footsteps approaching on the decking behind him, and he turns to see BA coming closer, smiling. The big man isn’t wearing a suit, but he looks good nonetheless in his smart black trousers and loose-fitting white shirt. Hannibal doesn’t know what Murdock will be wearing for the ceremony, but he expects it will be something a whole lot more colourful. “It’s time, man. You all set?”

Hannibal nods firmly. He’s so ready for this, but he still has to ask. “Is he – ?” 

“Already there, with Murdock.” BA, of course, knows exactly what he is asking. “Crazy fool keeps distractin’ him with his stupid puppets. He’s promised to put them away for the ceremony though.” That gets a laugh out of Hannibal, the thought of his crazy pilot entertaining his darling boy before their wedding.

Another thought. “Rings?”

His man pulls those two matching boxes from his pocket. “Got ‘em both right here. Figured better safe with me than with Murdock.” BA reaches forward to clap his hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Don’t panic. No more plannin’ to do now, Boss. You ready?”

Hannibal squares his shoulders, smiling as widely as he ever has in his life. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

And he walks away from the beach towards where his precious Face is waiting for him, waiting to marry him. Walks away from the past towards the man he will spend the rest of his life with, loving and caring for him, fighting by his side and sharing the same bed. In sickness and in health, till death parts them.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for this prompt from Panda77777 at ATeam_Prompts:
> 
> Would like a bit of angst with a happy ending!
> 
> Maybe on the eve of his wedding to Hannibal something happens and Face thinking he is protecting Hannibal disappears. Could be interference from Morrison, blackmail from a third party or he is diagnosed with an illness but not terminal and does not want to be a burden on Hannibal. These are only ideas .
> 
> Maybe after the shock, hurt etc Hannibal finds out the the truth and goes to find Face and bring him home.
> 
> All I ask is plenty of angst but in the end a happy ending.


End file.
